


in my blood

by infinisei



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: AU where Zuko's journey is a lot deadlier than canon, Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon Rewrite, Gen, Immortal!Zuko, Serious Injuries, alternative universe, poor Zuko he doesn't deserve this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-07 20:40:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26623792
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinisei/pseuds/infinisei
Summary: Uncle Iroh claims it's because the Spirits chose him for a great Destiny. That he is meant to do great things and has been granted protection so he can fulfill them.Zuko doesn't think so. All his life, he has only suffered and struggled. He has never been the lucky one, never been the chosen one. This is a curse made by a spite-filled entity who wanted him to suffer. Why else would the Universe never let him die?An Immortal!Zuko AU
Relationships: Iroh & Zuko (Avatar), The Gaang & Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 76
Kudos: 299





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've always been a huge fan of ATLA. Even after watching the show more than a dozen times, it is still one of my favorite stories with just fantastic characters. I don't think I could ever get tired of rewatching it.
> 
> A recent rewatch (thank you Netflix for finally adding ATLA, it took you long enough) and reading a lot of truly fantastic fic sparked an idea, and all of a sudden I was frantically writing. I mostly feel bad for Zuko, who already suffered _a lot_ in canon, and now I'm just adding to his angst and pain.
> 
> This fic is not fully planned, nor is it beta'd, so we're all on this rollercoaster ride together. I hope you enjoy!

The first time that Zuko dies is when he is eight years old.

He doesn’t realize what happened.

Zuko is eight years old and it’s a glorious summer day. He eagerly runs to the royal garden, and he hears the pitter-patter of little feet following him. Azula is six years old and adorable, with big eyes and chubby cheeks. But there is already a hint of a glint in her eyes, one that her older brother doesn’t recognize for what it is, her mother fears and avoids, and her father welcomes and encourages.

“I bet I can climb that tree faster than you,” Azula declares with a grin.

Zuko bristles, his competitive spirit flaring at the challenge. “No way!”

Azula is darting forward before Zuko even blinks. “Last one at the top of the tree has to help Master Tanaka with cleanup chores!”

“No fair, you got a head start!” Zuko shouts, but he moves to climb. Azula is already halfway up the trunk by the time Zuko is jumping onto the base of the tree. But Zuko at eight is taller than his sister by a head, and his reach is wider. It lets him scale the tree in an instant. Within minutes, he pulls himself up to the tallest branch. Panting and grinning, he pumps his fist in the air in victory. “Yes!”

He looks down at Azula still climbing, a scowl on her face. Zuko remembers his mom telling him that a good man and a good prince is one who wins with humility and grace. But the dozens of moments when Azula outshone him rises to the surface in his mind’s eye, all the times when their father praised Azula and sneered at Zuko flashes in Zuko’s head. Those feelings of anger and hurt pride bubble up within him like the toxins of a pufferfish-snake, and it’s those feelings that cause Zuko to taunt, “Looks like I’m better than you at something. So much for being little Miss Perfect.”

It is then that Zuko hears their mother calling for them, and is the only reason that he misses the ugly expression that appears on Azula’s face. He catches sight of the gleaming gold of his mom’s Fire Lady headpiece when a sharp jolt shudders through the branch under him. Zuko wheels his arms for balance, but a force shoves him forward and then he is _falling_.

_Oh no_ , is all he has time to think before he hears a crack and then nothing at all.

.

.

.

When he comes to, he hears his mother chastising Azula for falling into the pond from such a height. He hears Azula apologizing in a small voice.

“Where is your brother?”

It is then that Zuko realizes that his body _hurts_. He winces and feels tears well up in his eyes. With a barely suppressed sob, Zuko forces himself to his knees. He knows his father would hate to see him acting weak, so he wipes his eyes roughly with his sleeve and grits his teeth as he pushes himself to his feet.

“Zuko!” His mother moves into his line of vision, her eyes wide with panic and worry. “What happened? Are you okay?”

Zuko is determined to show to his mom that he is a man, that he doesn’t need comfort. “Of course I’m okay,” he says confidently. “Azula and I were just racing.”

Lady Ursa’s eyes narrow, and Zuko wonders if she sees through him. “Sweetie,” she says softly, “you’re bleeding.”

Blinking, Zuko looks down at himself. That causes wetness to slide down and bead at the top of his mouth. Instinctively, Zuko’s hand moves up to stop it. Zuko draws his hand away, and he stares at the red stain of blood on his fingertips.

His mother gently pushes him to the palace entrance. “Come on, sweetie, let’s get you to a healer,” she says. A note of sternness enters her voice. “And I hope this discourages the both of you from being reckless and climbing trees in the future.”

Zuko ducks his head in sheepish embarrassment, and Azula looks to the floor when she apologizes. 

After the Royal Healer declares that Zuko only has a few bruises and scrapes and is not seriously hurt, Lady Ursa gives her children the punishment of no anintofu for a month. She also makes them promise to be careful when playing, and not to do anything dangerous without her permission and supervision.

Later, much later, Zuko will wonder about this incident. Wonder if he really had emerged largely unscathed from that fall.

Even much later, he doesn’t think (doesn’t want to think) about how exactly he fell from that tree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think! Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter up soon. A prize of virtual confetti and hugs goes to whoever guesses how Zuko dies next ;D


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was almost bowled over from the outpouring of feedback and support for this fic! I'm so monumentally happy to see that this fandom is alive and well even after all these years. My heart is so full from all the comments I got, and that is 99% of the reason how I got this chapter ready to be posted so soon after the first chapter.

Years later, Zuko sees his banishment and disgrace in the angry red scar he faces every time he looks at the mirror. He stares through his room’s window in the _Agni_ , where he can only see the open ocean and empty sky, and thinks about home, with its year-round lush trees and humid nights. He thinks about the laughter that would surround him when he walked through the streets at night in the heart of the city, lit so bright with lanterns that it almost seemed like midday. He thinks of the time before his mother died, when his family had been happy and together—when things had been peaceful. And he curses himself for throwing his home and his happiness away for quick, short-lived indignation and shouted words.

But he has his chance at redemption. He clings to it in his darkest nights, when his memories of home have gone fuzzy and he longs to see his family again. He has his one chance for redemption, and it doesn’t matter how small the chance is. Zuko doesn’t care about the disbelief in people’s voices, their scoffs and sneers when they hear how Zuko will return home. It doesn’t matter when they point to his forefathers and their failure to capture the Avatar, and ask him how in Spirits could he possibly do what they couldn’t. 

It all means nothing to Zuko. His forefathers didn’t have what Zuko has on the line. They hadn’t been about to lose everything they had known and loved. Zuko is.

He will find the Avatar. The Avatar will be forced to face the world and the wrath of the Fire Nation. The Avatar just doesn’t know it yet.

* * *

Learning that the Avatar is a twelve-year-old child doesn’t change things as much as Zuko would expect. It is reassuring that the kid only has his airbending, but Zuko will never forget the easy, terrifying power in the kid’s glowing eyes and tattoos when he bursts from the water like an avenging Spirit and bats them away like powerless leaves in the wind. It would be different if it was just the half-baked Avatar, but the amateur waterbender and the young warrior from the Southern Water Tribe are infuriatingly troublesome, and that bison lets them flee far too easily.

But all these complications don’t change anything, not really. Zuko has his mission. Now, the end of the tunnel is in actually in sight.

* * *

When Zuko dies the second time, it’s because of some damn pirates.

The banished Fire Nation Prince is still stewing over the traitorous abandonment of his crew to Zhao’s invasion fleet. His crew was already small to begin with when they had first set out to find the Avatar two years ago. Now, though, they are gutted. It is just him and Uncle Iroh now. The lack of extra hands will make it harder to catch up to the Avatar, and now Zuko has to think about how to get to that damned elusive bison before the hotheaded Admiral.

Zuko grits his teeth in frustration, and throws his hands down. Trails of fire follow his fingertips.

They will have to move faster than ever, Zuko decides, if he wants to even have a chance of reaching the Avatar first. He will have to rechart the _Agni_ ’s course with the nonexistent crew in mind.

He moves to get to the bridge of the ship, intent on reviewing the maps and having the course set before his uncle returns from his walk.

There is a soft clang. Zuko whirls around, looking at the hallway.

There isn’t anyone there. There isn’t supposed to be anyone on the ship but him.

“Uncle?” Zuko tries.

No one replies.

Eyes narrowed, Zuko slowly resumes his walk to the bridge. He doesn’t sense anyone behind him. So he continues on.

He reaches the bridge. The maps are pristinely rolled and placed in their cupboard to the right of the helm. The helmsman had at least tidied up before abandoning them.

There is a movement at the corner of his eye, and Zuko turns. He almost thinks it’s a spirit, or a ghost. But after a split second, he recognizes the green feathers and scales and red eyes.

The pirate captain’s iguana parrot.

Zuko’s eyes widen.

With a final scream, the bird takes off from the railing.

Zuko feels the shudder of the explosion before he hears the blast. It is deafening. He whirls to the exit, only to find a roaring wall of flames racing towards him. He raises his arms but the flames are already _there_. The heat is excruciating.

He _screams_.

.

.

.

When Zuko takes his next breath, his lungs scream. Zuko chokes and coughs. Water gushes from his mouth. His tongue tastes like ash.

“Prince Zuko!” a familiar voice exclaims.

Zuko makes a noise of agony in reply, and coughs harder. His entire body is acting as if it had been tossed into a volcano.

“Hold still, nephew,” the voice says. “Hold still.”

At some point, Zuko’s coughing fit eases. Somehow, Zuko opens his eyes. The first thing he sees is rolling black, with showering red sparks.

His lungs do not let him register anything else. His whole torso spasms, and mercifully it shifts something, clearing his lungs, and then he could breathe, _thank Agni_. But that leads the rest of his body to voice how much pain it’s in.

“You are very badly burned, you must hold still. There is a village nearby, I can get a poultice to treat them. The sooner they’re treated, the better.”

Zuko manages to focus on the voice, at the person leaning over him. Uncle is kneeling at his side and he looks _broken_. Tear tracks line his cheeks, and the great Dragon of the West looks very far from the jolly, lazy old man Zuko knows him as.

Zuko sucks in a breath. “Uncle,” he rasps. His throat flares in agony, and he immediately dissolves into a hacking cough.

“Do not talk,” Uncle urges. “You must have breathed in some of the fire from the explosion. Your throat and lungs are severely damaged.”

Zuko opens his mouth, and only barely manages to stop himself from replying. He nods instead.

Uncle looks at him as if he is a miracle. “Prince Zuko. You were not breathing.”

Zuko stares up at him. He shakes his head, not to deny the statement, but the implied statement behind the words.

“You were facedown in the water when I found you,” Iroh presses. “It took me at least ten minutes to get back to the ship, after I saw…”

Uncle and nephew’s eyes meet, and they share a conversation between one breath and the next.

Zuko was in that water for at least ten minutes, after being blown from the brig. He had definitely been unable to fully block the flames; he feels the same fiery pain he had felt two years ago after he’d woken up from an Agni Kai throughout his entire body.

There was no way he should have survived that. Zuko should be dead right now.

How is he alive?

Uncle pushes himself to his feet. “You need a healer, and it is imperative you do not move,” he says. “I will get a healer to come and treat you.”

“ _No_ ,” Zuko says strongly.

“Prince Zuko, you need medical attention—”

“The pirates did this. With that damned iguana parrot. They knew that no one would be on the ship. They knew the _Agni_ ’s location. Zhao did this. He hired them to kill me. I am going to make Zhao regret this for the rest of his life.”

“Zuko—”

Zuko glares at him. “You know he did.”

Uncle presses his lips together. “You may be right,” his Uncle acknowledges, “but that is all the more reason to approach this with calm and thoughtfulness.”

Zuko grits his teeth and sits up, much to his Uncle’s protests. He doesn’t understand how the parts of his skin that he sees are only an angry, mottled red and purple. Only moments ago, his entire body had felt like a third degree burn. Being thrown into a volcano like he had first thought wasn’t too far off.

“How in Agni—?” Uncle murmurs.

But Zuko doesn’t want to think about it, and they don’t have time.

“Let’s go.”

“Zuko, please,” Iroh says, emotions plain in his voice. “You almost died.” _You did die_ , is left unspoken.

Zuko only steels his jaw and, through some incredible willpower, gets himself to his feet. He cradles his chest, where his bones are aching, and somehow finds it in himself to not pass out.

“No roads or passageways,” Zuko manages, “and no one can spot us. Zhao has to think he succeeded. He has to think I’m dead if I’m going to make him pay for this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the reviewer who guessed that Zuko would drown the next time Zuko dies, I realize that the cause of death for this chapter is a little uncertain, given how he was blown up too. Hopefully, this death doesn't disappoint 😜
> 
> Thank you everyone for reading! Please let me know what you think of this chapter, I'd love to hear what you think!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm feeling victorious because I've now updated _two_ fics today, so I'm super pumped. Also, you all are so sweet with your kind and excited words, it's making me sooooo pumped to write this fic!!! Massive hugs to all of you.

Zuko’s first idea when asked what his next plans are is to storm Zhao’s ship and declare him a traitor for attempting to kill the Fire Nation Prince. And also possibly fight with him in another Agni Kai.

Uncle, however, argues strongly against this.

“Think about it, Prince Zuko,” the elderly firebender says strongly. “If Zhao truly has conspired to kill you, and you accuse him, you will not be believed. No matter what you say, you will not be able to have an Admiral punished. Admiral Zhao will claim innocence, and will throw the blame on the pirates, who actually committed the act. It would leave you disgraced and unbelieved, and Zhao would know that you still lived.”

Zuko gnashes his teeth. As much as he hates to admit it, he knows that his Uncle’s words are true. Zuko couldn’t go out and accuse Zhao without any strong evidence. But he refuses to allow Zhao to try to kill him and capture the Avatar.

“Fine,” Zuko says, “I don’t need him punished for what he’s done. Not yet, at least. If I capture the Avatar and restore my honor and my rightful place on the throne, it won’t matter if I don’t have evidence. Capturing the Avatar is the best way for me to make him pay.”

“Alright, but then there’s a problem. How will you get to the Avatar before Zhao? The _Agni_ has been destroyed, and Zhao has a massive fleet for the invasion force.”

“I get there using Zhao’s invasion fleet,” Zuko says calmly. “If I sneak on board one of his ships, and then infiltrate the Water Tribe once the fleet arrives, then I can get to the Avatar before Zhao. It will take Zhao longer because he will have to actually invade the Water Tribe. If I sneak in, then I will have a head start.”

Uncle is silent for a moment. “I see,” he finally says. Then, he pushes himself to his feet with a grunt. “Well then, I’m sure Zhao will not mind me changing my mind and joining the invasion force as his advisor.”

The quick sting of betrayal is unexpectedly swift. The last thing Zuko had expected is for his uncle to abandon him so quickly. 

Oblivious to his nephew’s reaction, Iroh continues cheerfully, “Even if Zhao is on guard, he is not the best liar. It will be fairly easy to tell if he is responsible, and it will make it easier to hide you.”

The anger and hurt rushes out of him in an instant. “You don’t have to do that.”

Uncle only smiles at him, “Of course I do, Prince Zuko. I don’t want Zhao to get away with what he did any more than you do!”

* * *

Uncle doesn’t smile once the both of them are boarded on Zhao’s ship.

It is partially the intensity of the situation. There is no room for error for the two of them; if Zuko gets caught, he would be imprisoned and sentenced to a punishment fit for a traitor, as would Uncle for aiding him.

Zuko’s life narrows down to being invisible and unnoticed. He acts like the perfect, loyal soldier to anyone around him, following orders and keeping the ship up and running. But he slips away whenever someone approaches him for a chat. At night, he stays in the room that’s become his hiding place and plots.

He only sees Uncle a few times. It is dangerous for the two of them to meet often. They each have their own roles, and Zuko trusts each of them to follow them.

Finally, the invasion fleet arrives at the North Pole. Zuko hears the clank and whine of the trebuchets being loaded and launched. They continue on unimpeded until the sun sinks and the moon rises. And then Zuko changes out of his Fire Nation soldier outfit and into loose clothing of whites and grays. He needs to blend into the icy tundra for him to get into the Water Tribe unseen.

Uncle quickly squeezes into the room. “Zhao has paused the attack for the night,” Uncle reports. “He will resume at daybreak.”

Zuko is winding up the rope in preparation for heading out. His mind is unusually quiet. He is calm and clear-headed and knows what he’s doing.

He has his task. The only thing left is to do it.

“You must have a tightly woven net,” Iroh says behind him, “or he will squeeze out of the tiniest hole and escape.”

“I don’t need your wisdom right now, Uncle,” Zuko says quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Uncle says in a raspy voice. “I don’t mean to nag you, but… Well, ever since I lost my son, and after the incident with the pirates…”

Softening at the vulnerable tone in his uncle’s voice, Zuko shuts his eyes. “Uncle, you don’t have to say it.

“I think of you as my own.” The words feel like a quiet confession.

At that, Zuko turns around. He takes in his uncle, who looks at him with softness and fear. Zuko remembers hearing the news of Lu Ten’s death. He knows how much Uncle Iroh had loved his son, and he knows how much the loss has hurt the elderly man. He knows how painful it was to find Zuko floating in the water, dead. “I know, Uncle,” Zuko says quietly, reassuringly. He drops into a quick, respectful bow. “We’ll meet again.” 

He is surprised at the sudden hug Uncle gives him. The arms around him are strong and reassuring, and Zuko takes a moment just to sink into it. To take it as the reassurance it is.

And then he pulls away. He can’t stay here any longer, he can’t solve his problems by standing here and hugging his uncle. So he gently pulls away and moves towards the canoe. “After I have the Avatar. I have to do this”

And Zuko cannot look at him, until Uncle says behind him. “I know.”

So Zuko continues, gripping the rope holding up the canoe, and lowering the canoe into the water. All the while, he acknowledges his uncle’s last-minute, fearful reminders. He spots his uncle’s sad, downturned face one last time before it’s obstructed by the ship. Zuko doesn’t try to look back.

He paddles as silently as possible. The air is bitingly cold, and Zuko takes deep breaths to fuel his inner fire, and paddles on.

The full moon makes only vague outlines visible, and the darkness helps blend him into the icy background. The biggest challenge he has is to get into the city without being spotted. He catches sight of sea lion turtles surrounding a hole. Zuko watches each of them dive into the hole. His brow wrinkles.

“Where are they going?” he murmurs to himself.

He goes to investigate. He stares down at the perfectly circular hole. A few bubbles float up from the depths.

“They have to come up for air somewhere…” And then Zuko has an idea. He pulls down the cloth covering his face. He takes a deep breath and braces himself.

And then he dives deep into the hole.

It is dark in the water, and the cold almost makes him lose his breath. He is lucky he spots the tails of the sea lion turtles disappearing up a crevice in the midst of a ceiling of ice. He quickly moves to follow. His lungs—still raw from his encounter with the pirates—is begging for air when he resurfaces. He collapses onto his back, gasping for breath. It is a death sentence for a firebender to have their core be even a few degrees colder than normal for a significant period of time. He shivers again at the cold. He curls to his side and puffs out fireballs with each exhale.

Marginally warmer now, noise finally registers to Zuko’s head, and he hears the loud greeting of sea lion turtles at his entrance.

Zuko violently shivers, then shouts, “Be quiet!”

The sea animals fall silent. He pushes past them, to where there is a rushing waterfall from an opening in the ice. He knows that the water comes from the Water Tribe’s water system. Which means he has a direct line to the heart of the city.

Zuko steels himself, taking a deep breath and holding tightly onto his inner flame.

He plunges headfirst into the torrent of water, holding tightly onto any ledge he can find. He climbs deeper into the water main, fighting against the current.

He keeps on going, even when he can’t feel his fingers anymore, when his entire face goes numb. He keeps going, because he has to, because if he doesn’t then he will have truly failed, and he will have truly lost his honor.

He pushes forward. And the next time he hauls himself forward, he clears the water main, and the water opens up to a massive water pool under the city. He urgently swims to a point that is brighter than the rest. He is nearing the end of his rope, he knows. He needs air soon.

The light source grows brighter, and his hands reach out to meet it...except they hit a wall of ice.

_No._

Zuko screws his eyes tightly shut. Unbiddenly, his lungs spasm, and any remaining air escapes from between his lips.

_No._

Panicking now, he makes one last desperate kick, his palms hitting the ice. He punches the frozen ceiling, trying to break through. It does nothing.

Black spots shroud his vision. It is pure, desperate instinct that makes him take a deep breath.

The water sears his lungs almost worse than fire. It only makes him take another breath, then another. He is disoriented, and cold. So, so cold. But, he is surprisingly calm. His head is empty.

The black spots overwhelm his vision.

.

.

.

Consciousness returns to him like a bolt of lightning.

Wildly, he looks around. He has sunk a little, but the opening to the surface is still right above him and completely frozen solid. He kicks himself back to the ice. He presses his hands to the ice and summons heat to his palms. They quickly sink into the ice, melting the barriers. And then he breaks through. He spasms as he part coughs up, part vomits up all the water he breathed. He gasps for air.

_I…_ he thinks, _definitely did not survive that_. He knows that he didn’t survive, that he had just experienced what it was like to drown, and yet somehow he had come back to life.

He stares at the glossy reflection of himself on the ice under him. The ice that had killed him. He takes in his scars and bruises and the scared look in his eye.

“Great Agni,” he whispered, “what is happening to me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See you soon for the next chapter!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M BAAAAAAAAACK!!!
> 
> Protip: do NOT look up the most painful ways to die if you're squeamish. I consider myself not to be very squeamish, but looking up the top 10 most painful ways to die had me backtracking very quickly.
> 
> I should also add that there are parts of the dialogue that I follow fairly close to canon throughout this fic (it's kinda sad that I can recall a majority of the dialogue from memory) but there are other parts that I take creative liberties on, and of course there are changes/additions because of Zuko's immortality. I do not take any ownership of the canon dialogue.

In the end, it is sheer autopilot that keeps Zuko moving. He has been searching for the Avatar for years now, has been living and breathing that single-minded purpose for so long, that he doesn’t have to put any conscious thought into getting up and beginning his search. The night passes in a blur until he spots the Avatar sitting cross-legged, his tattoos aglow, and two figures standing near him.

It is easy to recognize the Avatar’s waterbending companion. The second person flees as soon as she spots Zuko. It means that there is only one person standing between him and the Avatar.

“Hand him over,” Zuko tells her as she takes a defiant fighting stance, “and I won’t have to hurt you.”

But, unlike all the fights before, the waterbender is sure in her movements. She moves fast and quickly, and before Zuko knows it he is encased in a sphere of ice.

“You little peasant,” he seethes. He lets his inner fire rise, until it is licking his skin and heating the air. “You found a master, didn’t you?”

It is pure luck that the sun rises when it does. His power rises while hers sets, and it is enough to send her crashing into a wooden post.

And then he finally has the Avatar.

He goes where they least expect him to. Deep into the blizzard above the oasis. It is brutally cold—distantly, he wonders if he will ever be warm again—but he cannot do anything but push on. He has never been closer to achieving his destiny, and he won’t let it slip out of his sight.

But the Universe has its own plans, and Zuko is forced to take shelter in a cave.

“I finally have you,” Zuko tells the Avatar, who is still deep in the Spirit World. “But I can’t get you home in this blizzard. There’s always something.”

It is almost comforting, having a body that cannot listen to him or judge him. He moves to face the mouth of the cave, where the blizzard rages on. Words spill out of his mouth like a dam has broken. “Not that you would understand. You’re like my sister. Everything always came easy to her. My father says she was born lucky. He says I was lucky to be born.”

He hears the silent rushing of the ice outside. His mind is a million miles away. “I don’t need luck though. I don’t want it. I’ve always had to struggle and fight and survive despite everything and it’s made me strong. It’s made me who I am.”

He clenches his eyes shut. “It doesn’t matter what’s happening to me,” he tells himself more than anything. “It doesn’t change anything. I have my mission. None of it means anything.”

* * *

He loses the Avatar within minutes. He sees the waterbender send snow towards him, he feels ice hold him tight, and then he doesn't remember anything after that.

* * *

His one moment of vindication is to see Zhao’s face when he sees Zuko. He turns pale with shock. “How did you survive?”

“You tried to have me _killed!”_ Zuko shouts. He hurls fire blasts at the Admiral, who recovers in time to redirect the flames away. When Zuko’s fire dissipates, Zhao turns to him with a snarl.

“So what? You’re the Blue Spirit! You’re a traitor to the Fire Nation, and you don’t even deserve the glory of capturing the Avatar.”

“So you thought that paying a bunch of scoundrel, greedy pirates to kill me would be the honorable thing to do?” Zuko sneers. He sends his arm down and an arc of fire rushes towards Zhao. He bats it away impatiently.

“It _was_ the honorable thing to do.” Zhao bares his teeth. “A weak, useless traitor who let the Avatar go so he can do it himself, but has failed countless times to confine a twelve-year-old child? _Disgraceful_. I am doing the Fire Nation and the Firelord a favor by putting you down.”

Zuko snarls at the insult and attacks.

They get interrupted by two massive glowing hands made of water descending upon Zhao. Eyes wide, Zuko barely tumbles out of the hands’ path. Zhao is not so lucky. The hand fully encases Zhao, lifting him up from the bridge and pulling him towards the water.

And Zuko hesitates.

But there is no time to think, and Zuko is leaping onto the ledge of the bridge, his hand outstretched. “Take my hand!”

He sees Zhao consider it. But then his gaze hardens and he curls his arm inward.

Zuko watches the Fire Nation Admiral disappear into the depths of the water. He wonders how long it will take Zhao to drown.

* * *

Days later, when it is just Zuko and Uncle floating on a broken piece of wood and cobbled-together sail, after Zuko failed to capture the Avatar ( _again_ ), is when Uncle brings it up.

“It has been some time since the incident at the docks,” Uncle says with feigned casualness.

“So?”

“We have yet to talk about what happened.”

“There is nothing to talk about,” Zuko bites out.

There is a pause as the older firebender digests that. Then, “I do not agree with you. And I think you feel the same way.”

“What does it matter, Uncle?” Zuko snaps.

“It matters because this incident is a sign. Being brought back to life is not meant to be something to ignore.”

“It doesn’t matter because it doesn’t change anything. I have my mission to capture the Avatar. They were just freak accidents that give me another chance to regain my honor.”

“ _Accidents?_ Plural?” Iroh stares at his nephew. “Prince Zuko,” he says slowly, “have you...died...at any point since the _Agni_?”

Zuko unbiddenly feels his shoulders tense. It is as much of an answer as him confessing it outright.

Zuko doesn’t look at Uncle's face, but hears the tremor in his voice when he says, “Zuko...what happened?”

Zuko presses his lips together. He does not want to relive the terrifying moment of drowning; between being blown up or drowning, he’d pick being blown up a hundred times over. It is somewhat terrifying he had experienced both to the point where he has a preference now. But the helpless feeling of slowly dying, the pain that consumed him from not getting any air and then the agony of water filling his lungs… That’s something that will stick with him for a long time. He tries not to think about Zhao and his fate. 

“Zuko, I need to know what happened.” Uncle’s voice is still soft, but there is an undercurrent of steel beneath it. There are only a handful of moments when the Dragon of the West replaces Zuko’s easy-going Uncle. Zuko can count the number of times he’s witnessed it on one hand. 

It is for that reason that Zuko grudgingly admits, “When I was getting into the Water Tribe...I ran into a complication.”

Uncle’s voice sharpens. “What kind of complication?”

Zuko grimaces. “My air supply. I ran out earlier than expected.”

There was a pause. And then, “You drowned.”

Zuko says nothing.

Uncle sighs. “I’m sorry you had to experience that. That must have been terrifying.”

“I made it out,” Zuko mutters. And then he hesitates. He says in a small voice, “Why is this happening to me, Uncle?” 

Uncle hums in thought. He spends time adjusting the sail without saying anything, but Zuko knows that he does that when he’s taking time to gather his thoughts. Or, when he knows what he’s going to say and believes Zuko isn’t going to like it.

“There are legends and myths of a handful of individuals who achieved immortality, or who have come close,” Uncle finally speaks. “Back in ancient times, a chosen few were gifted the ability to never die by some of the most powerful of Spirits. You are as familiar as I am with the common Fire Nation children’s story of the Monkey King, who had been tasked with guarding the Immortal Peach Tree—an ancient and revered site for Spirits—and, upon discovering the effects of consuming one of these peaches, quickly consumed a peach.”

“Those were all myths and legends, Uncle,” Zuko snaps. “They’re meant to teach children lessons about duty and stealing. None of the stories are true.”

“All myths and legends are based in truth,” Uncle says sagely.

Zuko makes a noise of disbelief. “I haven’t eaten any immortal peaches recently, but maybe the bad fish we ate a month ago was actually an immortal fish?” he says mockingly.

“While one of the items we’ve eaten may possibly have been more than it originally seemed, I believe it is far more likely that you have been blessed by a spiritual entity.” 

“You think that a Spirit chose to make me immortal out of the goodness of their heart?” Doubt laces every note of the sentence.

“Out of the belief that you are destined for great things, Prince Zuko,” Uncle corrects him. “That you will contribute something for the good of the Universe.”

It is the most ridiculous thing Zuko has ever heard. Zuko doesn’t know whether to laugh or to check Uncle for a fever. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Just be careful not to embrace this blessing too tightly,” Uncle warns. “You do not know how long the Spirits will grant this to you, or if there are conditions attached. It may be that you don’t know your immortality has left you until you don’t get back up.”

Zuko clenches his fists. “I never asked for immortality. Like I said, immortality or not, my mission hasn’t changed. I still need to capture the Avatar, and I will do anything to achieve that.”

Zuko doesn't see Uncle close his eyes at that, looking incredibly sad. The banished prince is too busy looking at the horizon, primed to resume his search as soon as they reach land.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iroh's mention of immortal peaches and the Monkey King is very loosely based off the Chinese myth of the Peaches of Immortality. 
> 
> I apologize to any readers who are disappointed that Zuko did not die in this chapter; I felt like I should give Zuko a break (he really needs it lol), and that conversation between Zuko and Iroh was greatly needed.
> 
> Next up: Azula!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Me: “I don’t think I can continue to watch [name of a show]!! I don’t think my heart could handle the angst.”
> 
> My friend: “Sweetie, you’re literally writing a fic where you kill Zuko over and over again.”
> 
> Me: “....”
> 
> ~~~
> 
> Also, I refuse to believe that a month has passed since I last posted. Absolutely refuse. I blame Azula being difficult to write.

They continue to drift with nothing in sight for days. The days and nights begin to blend together in a haze of hunger and thirst and cold. They navigate solely by the stars and the direction of the sun.

They make do without water for the first week by melting ice from the polar caps. They melt chunks of ice into water in their hands before slurping it up.

Food is harder to find. There is no sign of any foliage, and animals are few and far between. Any time Zuko spots one, they aren’t in reach. As much as Zuko cajoles and snarls and threatens the creatures, they only stare at him curiously before flying or swimming away. Iroh only chuckles when Zuko snarls at him to help.

It gets easier to find food when the landscape of ice transitions to clear, empty sea. The air warms, and they are able to catch fish and some curious penguin vultures. Getting fresh water becomes almost impossible.

They are almost at their limits when they mercifully land.

* * *

At first, he doesn’t realize simply because he doesn’t know what the date is. His mind was at first focused on the North Pole and capturing the Avatar, and after that he had to completely focus on their survival to make it to land. There had been no time to think about calendars and dates.

It is only after they have eaten twice their body weight and slept all night and part of the day that he spots the calendar supplied by the innkeepers of the room his Uncle purchased for him. He sees the date, and it feels like the ground drops from under him.

But his Uncle is already pulling him out of their room, cheerfully saying something about massages and sore muscles. No grumbling or snarling can get Zuko out of it, and he is dragged to a _spa,_ of all things. He sits against the entrance, arms crossed, head bowed. He feels his shoulders rising in horror and humiliation at the sounds from his Uncle.

It does not take long before Uncle catches on to his mood, or his silence. He comes to kneel beside Zuko. “It’s the anniversary, isn’t it,” Uncle says to him quietly.

Now that it’s been said out loud, it’s as if the floodgates have opened.

“Three years since I was banished,” Zuko spits. “I lost it all: my family, my home, my throne. I want it all back. I want the Avatar. I want my honor. I want my throne.” Zuko fights against the lump that suddenly forms in his throat. “I want my father not to think I’m worthless.”

“I’m sure my brother doesn’t think you’re worthless! Why would he banish you if he didn’t care?”

Feeling a weight in his stomach, he rises and walks away. He hears his Uncle mutter behind him, “Ugh, that came out wrong, didn’t it?”

He keeps on walking. He refuses for this to continue. He refuses for this to go on for another year.

* * *

“We don’t need any more useless things!” Zuko snaps as Iroh admires the shells he picked up from the beach just moments earlier. “Remember, we have to carry everything on foot now.”

“Hello, brother,” a voice commands their attention. “Uncle.”

It is almost indescribable, the visceral reaction that shoots through Zuko like lightning. It is something akin to fight to flight, along with a feeling of being home. It has been years since he has heard her voice, but he recognizes it like he recognizes his own name.

“Azula,” Uncle breathes.

Zuko slowly, deliberately lowers his shoulders, but he cannot do anything to relax them. “What are you doing here?”

Azula picks up a shell. She drawls, “In my country, it is polite to exchange pleasantries before talking about business.” She rises and approaches them. “Have you become civilized so soon, Zuzu?”

The nickname makes Zuko bristle. _“Don’t call me that!”_

Uncle is calmer, but there is caution in his voice. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

Azula smirks. “Must be a family trait.” Then, her voice hardens. “Both of you so quick to get to the point!”

The shell shatters under her nail.

Azula carelessly flicks her fingers of the shell remnants. “I’ve come with a message from home. Father’s changed his mind. Family is suddenly important to him. He’s heard of rumors of plans to overthrow him… Treacherous plots…” She looks Zuko in the eye. “Family is the only thing you can trust.”

Zuko feels like he is at a precipice, barely balanced on a footstand. It feels like it is taking everything he has to stay afoot.

Azula watches him. “Father regrets your banishment. He wants you home.”

He feels himself falling. He knows he’s standing, but the swooping in his stomach tells him otherwise.

Distantly, he wonders if he actually did die, and he’s in some type of afterlife that gives him exactly what he wants. Or, he’s been poisoned and he’s hallucinating.

“Didn’t you hear me?” Azula asks sharply. She is now standing in front of them. “I just gave you good news.”

Uncle starts, “I’m sure that he just—”

_“Don’t interrupt, Uncle.”_ Azula steps to Zuko, and her voice softens. It does not blunt the sharpness of her words. “I still haven’t heard a thank you. I didn’t have to come all this way.”

Zuko barely hears her. He quietly croaks, “Father...regrets? He...wants me back?”

“I can see you need some time to take things in. I’ll come to call on you in the evening. Good evening.”

Azula leaves, but Zuko doesn’t—can’t—react. He can only hear the blood rushing through his head.

* * *

It only takes a handful of minutes for Azula’s words to sink in.

Once they do, he feels like he’s been reborn.

Zuko doesn’t know what to do with the surge of energy that crashes into his body. Pack. He needs to pack. A mania seizes him. He begins to snatch every piece of belongings he has. It is the happiest he’s ever been packing. He moves quickly, because the faster he is, the quicker he’ll be home.

Home.

“We’re going home.” The words feel like every dream come true. “Can you believe this, Uncle?” Excitement vibrates through him. “After three long years. It’s unbelievable.”

“It _is_ unbelievable,” Uncle replies slowly. “I have never known my brother to regret anything.”

He whirls to face his Uncle, because he can’t contain the energy in his body any longer. “Did you listen to Azula? Father’s realized how important family is to him. _He cares about me._ ” The words make his chest burn in his chest.

_“I care about you.”_ Uncle holds out his hands to his nephew, and then his hand moves to brush at his beard. “I mean, if Ozai wants you back...well, I think it may not be for the reasons you imagine.”

The giddy excitement coursing through him freezes in his veins. In its place, white hot anger spears through him. Zuko turns away. Of course Zuko is the happiest he’s ever been in recent memory, and his Uncle brings it all crashing down. The words spit out from Zuko’s lips before he even realizes, “You don’t know how my father feels about me. _You don’t know anything._ ”

“Zuko,” Uncle implores at Zuko’s back, “I only meant that in our family, things are not always what they seem. And I am concerned…” Iroh hesitates. “I am concerned about what will happen if your father were to learn about what has happened to you during your time away. Your father may not view a...recurrence...as something to avoid.”

Zuko whirls around. He is angry, but his words are slowly and methodically given. He wants to make sure his Uncle understands exactly what he’s saying. “My father will be proud to hear the sacrifices I’ve made for him and for our country, and he would _never_ try to put me in a position where I died again. I think you are _exactly_ what you seem: a lazy, mistrustful, _shallow_ old man who’s always been jealous of his brother.”

With that, Zuko storms away. It is a waste to give his Uncle any more time. He has better things to think about. 

He thinks of home.

* * *

Despite their argument and their disagreements, Zuko is genuinely happy when his Uncle changes his mind. He and his Uncle have been together on this long journey for years now, and it only seems fitting for them to return home together.

A blissful feeling rushes through Zuko when Azula says “set a course for home.”

“Home,” Zuko echoes.

It all falls to pieces the moment the word _prisoners_ escapes the helmsman’s lips.

The quick flash of terror on the helmsman’s face is one thing, but the look of anger that clouds Azula’s face seals the truth in Zuko’s mind.

“ _You lied to me,_ ” Zuko snarls.

Azula’s face settles into a cool smirk. “Like I’ve never done _that_ before,” she says sarcastically.

Then she turns and waves her hand, and the soldiers attack.

* * *

Zuko remembers how he and Azula fought when they were children.

It was only sparring, when the two children had no thoughts of banishment or honor or the Avatar. 

There were already dark shadows growing in the royal palace, but none of that mattered in the face of children’s innocence. Instead, they were simply testing their limits of their firebending, of the height of their kicks and the strength of their punches. Not to best one another (at least, not yet), but just to grow stronger and get the approval of their parents. Zuko especially loved when his mom would ruffle his hair and kiss his forehead whenever he showed her a new move he’d finally mastered.

The palace had felt painfully empty when Zuko’s mom had died.

The only people Zuko could show his new skills to were his father and the royal firebending teacher, and both of them gave him stinging slaps and harsh words of criticism instead of the kisses and soft words he was used to (and missed).

Fighting with Azula has changed. Both of them have gotten better, practiced more, fought more. The stakes are different, too. Before, winning or losing didn’t mean much. But now, the word _prisoner_ looms over Zuko like a shadow.

He remembers the last time he sparred with Azula, just before he was banished. Azula’s movements were fluid yet still unpracticed. But Azula had always been clever, ever since she was a little girl, and it was her smarts that had gotten him to trip over a branch. Zuko could only sit up and stare at the threatening stance of Azula about to strike. It had been the first time she had resoundedly won. Zuko had scowled and sworn up and down that he would beat her next time. The next day, he had attended his first War Council meeting. He hadn’t thought about that last fight with Azula since.

The memory rushes back to him as Zuko barrels through Azula’s soldiers and steps onto the deck of her ship. He curls his hands into fists at his sides, and feels the heat of fire flaring from behind them.

Azula only beckons him forward.

Fighting his sister is different, three years later. Three years ago, Zuko had only subconsciously seen signs of the master fighter she would become one day. The sheer potential. Of course, his father and everyone around her had gushed about how great of a firebender Azula would become. 

He is seeing that potential fully realized now.

Azula is calm and patient in her movements, and she constantly avoids him. Every time he thinks that he has her, every time he is inches from landing a blow, she somehow dances away in a movement that feels almost choreographed and then she is out of his reach. 

Just when Zuko is starting to feel frustrated, her arm flashes overhead. There is _pain._ She just scratched his forehead.

The fury inside him spikes, and he _roars,_ lunging forward. He makes a flurry of attacks, but his damn sister would not _stand still._

Until something makes him pause. Azula smiles, a glint in her eye.

She darts her arm forward, and Zuko falls back. Blue fire misses him by inches. He tumbles back on the incline, until he meets the deck with his back and his head.

Groaning, he raises his head. He blurrily takes in the incline of the ship, and the figure of red at the top of it. The figure takes a stance, and moves her arms. There is a blue flash.

Zuko’s vision solidifies.

There is Azula, and lightning crackles around her. Zuko can only stand here, his muscles frozen, no matter how much he screams at them.

_Not again,_ he thinks.

Azula moves to point straight at him, and the lightning convalesces to her fingertip—but then Uncle is there, grabbing her hand and whirling around. There is a _bang._

Zuko hears Azula yell as Uncle throws her overboard, and then he is shouting at Zuko. “Come _on,_ we have to go!”

Dazed, Zuko can only let Uncle pull himself up.

They run.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Until next time!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd like to thank tigrrli for volunteering to beta this fic and make sure it's comprehensible. You're truly the best and I owe you a million ❤️

Zuko doesn’t know how long they run for.

He greedily inhales air to try to ease the stitch in his side. Beside him, he hears his Uncle gasp for breath.

They run, and they run fast and far. The two of them do not need to say anything to agree that they need to get as far away as possible. Azula is hunting them now, and even being across the Earth Kingdom from her would be too close for comfort, let alone only a valley away.

Eventually, gasping, they stumble to a stop. There is a searing stitch in Zuko’s side, and his chest feels incredibly tight. He collapses to his knees at the side of a stream. It takes a solid minute for Zuko to stop feeling like his chest is going to burst out of him, for the pain in his gut to ease. 

He doesn’t want to think about what happened, but he has to. He stares at the water streaming over the pebbles. 

Azula never planned on getting him to return home with open arms. His father hadn’t wanted him home. Not in the way that Zuko wanted. His father wanted to tuck him away somewhere, to keep him out of everyone’s sight, where he couldn’t mess up and disappoint his family and his throne. 

He had wanted to restore his honor before his fourth anniversary of banishment arrived. That goal seems further from his reach than ever. 

He had failed. Again.

Zuko swallows thickly. He reaches into his belt for the one thing he carries with him always: the knife gifted to him years ago by the very person he sat next to now.

The words “Never give up without a fight” seem to mock him.

Zuko closes his eyes. His hands know exactly where to go. 

The knife cuts through his hair as smoothly as slicing through water. His head suddenly feels lighter, more bare without the familiar sensation of hair brushing the nape of his neck. Zuko stares at the remains of his phoenix plume, then wordlessly passes the knife to Uncle.

Zuko hears the soft snick as his Uncle severs his topknot. Together, they let their hair fall into the stream.

Zuko watches them drift together, following the current, until they fall out of sight.

* * *

Zuko remembers the first few weeks of his banishment.

For the first week, Zuko had been unused to the constant swaying of the ship. He’d clung to the edge of the _Wani_ —half of his face still wrapped in bandages—for days, absolutely miserable. His neck had flushed with shame and anger at the eyes of his crew on him, the whispering behind his back. It took weeks to get used to the darkness of his room, where there was only a small sliver of a window that cast a narrow beam of light for only a handful of hours a day. He woke up, expecting the canopy of red drapes that surrounded his bed in the Fire Nation palace, only to feel cold and disoriented when he was met by the hard cold metal of the ship. Meals had changed too; instead of the plethora of ingredients and flavors and the ability to request any meal without question and have it presented within minutes, options were constrained to whatever was at the market or what they could catch at sea. 

At home, his biggest struggles were pleasing his firebending master and learning his princely duties. He hadn’t once thought about how the food on his plate came to be, or how every single crop he ate at the palace was full of flavor because only the best crops went to the royals. The merchants he’d first encountered on their first pitstop had given Zuko such looks of contempt when he’d complained to Uncle a little too loudly that the fruit just didn’t taste as good as the ones from the palace. It wasn’t until Uncle had explained that he had understood.

Being banished had certainly forced Zuko to face certain realities. 

But being banished is nothing compared to living as a wanted fugitive from the Fire Nation and a criminal by all the others.

In the _Wani,_ they at least had the basic comforts of a bed and clothes and food. Now, they only have the clothes on their backs and Zuko’s single knife. Food is more plentiful than it had been on that damn raft after the invasion on the Northern Water Tribe, but it is no less difficult actually acquiring it.

He doesn’t—can’t—sleep for days on end. The ground is mercilessly cold and hard. He constantly has to keep up his breath of fire to keep warm, because they don’t have any blankets. But Zuko can’t keep up his breath of fire when he’s fully unconscious; he’ll fall asleep for maybe half an hour before he’ll jolt awake with a shudder. He’ll clear the sleep fog from his head to focus on heating his breaths, he’ll fall asleep, get cold, and wake up. And then the cycle continues.

He can almost hear Zhao’s spirit sneering at him. The general had always said that Zuko was a good-for-nothing traitor. The man must be jeering in mocking triumph that the Firelord seems to have realized what Zhao has always told Zuko.

Zuko asks Uncle how he can sleep through the night. The older man only chuckles and pats at his belly with a wink, but the next night Zuko eyes his Uncle, breathing deeply, and realizes that the old man is doing his breath of fire while deeply asleep. Zuko scowls at the discovery before rolling over to his other side, muttering under his breath about stupid Dragons of the West.

The next day, the soreness in his back and the feeling of his eyes mimicking sticky tree sap finally pushes Zuko over the edge, and he rants, “I’m tired of sleeping in the dirt, scrounging for food. I can’t live like this!”

Uncle’s distracted non-answer has Zuko swerving to him to see what has him so distracted. Zuko finds his Uncle giving a plant a baffling, wide-eyed scrutiny. “Uncle,” he says with exasperation, “what are you _doing?”_

His Uncle begins to blather on about this plant being either tea leaves or poison, and the besotted look his Uncle was giving to a damn plant has Zuko giving up on the possibility of his Uncle giving any consideration of sympathy for their situation anytime soon. 

“I’m going fishing,” Zuko declares out loud, then stalks away.

It isn’t until he gets to the river that he realizes that he has no fishing line or hook for fishing.

After he wrestles himself free of the river, dripping wet, he refuses to speak of the experience.

“Zuko,” Uncle calls to him, “you remember when I said that this plant may be poisonous?”

Zuko pauses in his stomp towards the fire. “You didn’t,” Zuko says in disbelief.

“I did.” Uncle turns his torso, showing his face. “And it wasn’t.”

Uncle’s face is an angry red, with patches unnaturally swollen. Zuko jerks back instinctively.

Iroh stands up, his fingers never leaving his skin to itch furiously. “The rash will continue to spread. When it reaches my throat, I will suffocate and die.”

_“Why would you eat that?”_ Zuko rages. 

Uncle’s face turns wistful. “The rare white dragon’s leaves are known to be _legendary._ Having the chance to try it is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“If you really wanted to try it so badly, why didn’t you just get me to try it? It wouldn’t have mattered if it had been poison, I would’ve just died and come back.”

“I would _never_ have asked you to die for this.” The ferocity in Uncle’s voice catches Zuko off guard.

Zuko doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he ducks his head, scowling. “You know it’s the smart thing to do,” Zuko mutters. “Out of the two of us, I’m going to be the one to survive. It doesn’t make sense to put yourself in unnecessary risk.”

“The risk is still there,” Uncle says firmly. “And being blessed in the past does not promise blessings in the future.”

“Just tell me next when you’re going to do something stupidly reckless,” Zuko mutters. “You forget, we can’t just walk into some random place and expect them to welcome us with open arms. If we go to the Earth Kingdom, we’ll be imprisoned.”

Uncle scratches his belly. “But if we seek refuge in the Fire Nation, they will give us to Azula.”

The two of them exchange a look. The pair of them simultaneously nod in agreement. “Earth Kingdom it is.”


End file.
